


Breaktime

by Rosehip



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Gags, M/M, Power Imbalance, Rope Bondage, dubcon, inappropriate library use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/pseuds/Rosehip
Summary: Macsen Surana is overworked, constantly under pressure to do well, and badly in need of sleep. But he has a report to write... and then he has a pushy boyfriend "helping".





	Breaktime

**Author's Note:**

> These two are in an established relationship. Their ages in this fic are 16 and 19. Yes, this is Macsen Surana from my series "Strange Luck" but it doesn't fit the tone of the rest of the series.
> 
> I love my foolish boys and want to sit them across the room from eachother for a nice long talk.

The words on the pages in front of Macsen had stopped having sharp edges over an hour ago. His handwriting had devolved and his eyes felt like raisins. He only hoped his thoughts still made sense, but how could one tell, in this state? He'd probably read this paper after a good night's sleep and find out it came from the same place as really beautiful thoughts just before dawn- one's own butt.

 

Irving had picked up the pace in recent months. Macsen no longer spent a lot of time with the other apprentices, working instead on individual projects. A lot of them. Macsen demonstrated assorted spells for Irving, often in the company of other enchanters. He wrote essay after essay, did experiment after experiment, read book after book. Now he just wanted sleep after sleep, and he probably wasn't going to get it.

 

_Excellence is the only escape route,_ he thought.  _Just get through the next few years. Whatever, get through the next few hours._ He rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

He opened his eyes to find his head on the library table and a warm, familiar hand stroking his shoulder.

 

“Phelan? Nng. What time is it?”

 

Phelan kneaded his shoulders. “About an hour past midnight. You were still pretending to work when I came on shift. You were past noticing anything, though.”

 

“I wasn't pretending! I have to get this done!”

 

“Or what? You're in a class of one. You literally can't fall behind. Bet you can't tell me what the last sentence you wrote says.” Phelan slid the papers away.

 

“It was about case law pertaining to the differentiation of lawful and unlawful magic from the Glory age.” Roughly. How far had he got into that?

 

Phelan turned the top sheet around a few times. “Are you sure it wasn't about pumpkins? Or maybe parsnips. Actually, is this in elvish?”

 

“My handwriting cannot be that bad.” Macsen tried to snatch the papers back but Phelan held them out of reach.

 

“Sure it can.” A mischievous glimmer sparked in Phelan's eyes. “You need a break. Everyone with any sense already went to bed over an hour ago. The nearest guys on duty are at the top of the stairs and outside the dormitory. This is as alone as we're ever likely to be without planning it.” a finger danced hypnotically along Macsen's arm. “We'd be fools to pass up the opportunity. If you're not willing to go to bed like a sane person, what do you say to doing something relaxing, just for a little while?”

 

Macsen let out a distinctly undignified noise. Phelan's fingers slid featherlight back up to his neck and all of his blood flowed south. “You're evil.”

 

“I'll show you evil,” Phelan laughed. Lightning fast, he twisted Macsen's arms behind him and lifted him from the chair.

 

“What are you doing? Let go.” Macsen's heart thumped loud enough to hear it.

 

“Make me.” Phelan ran his teeth along one edge of Macsen's ear. It tickled deliciously.

 

Macsen gasped in spite of himself. He pulled at the grip. Even elves who climbed walls couldn't wrestle a human who jogged in armor and win, however. “I- I can't. I can't do more than spark with my hands like that. You know it.”

 

“Exactly. I'm giving you just what you need right now.” His lips trailed softly down Macsen's neck and landed upon his shoulder with a nibble. A worn-soft rope coiled around Macsen's wrists. The knot pulled tight in a moment. “No choice. There is nowhere else you can be. No one else is around. If anyone does show, you can say whatever you want. And only I will ever know about that look in your eyes when I first suggested you should join me.” The last words came out in a whisper. A kiss landed on Macsen's cheek.

 

Macsen's eyes closed. A shiver ran down his arms. The warmth of Phelan's hands drew all his attention. He sighed and leaned back against his lover's chest. He imagined he could feel Phelan's beautiful muscles under the tooled leather, but that was impossible, wasn't it?

 

A deep kiss and embrace rewarded him, as welcome as rest. Macsen tested the tie- it had happened so quickly! It held. Tension seeped out of his muscles. He really did want this. Wanted anything other than work for one moment.

 

“You're not going to do anything but enjoy yourself. I'll take care of everything else. Trust me?”

 

“You know I do,” Macsen breathed.

 

“Worth checking. One more step. Keep your eyes closed.” A second kiss sent a glowing warmth through Macsen's exhausted body. As Phelan's lips withdrew, Macsen leaned to retrieve them, but a cloth filled his mouth instead.

 

“Ngpf!” His eyes flew open again. His heart raced with sudden anxiety as Phelan tied a second cloth securely over the first.

 

“Shhhh,” Phelan kneaded his arms and nuzzled his neck. “I would never hurt you. I'm just going to spoil you. You only have to enjoy it, and now you can't argue.”

 

He spun Macsen to look square in his wide eyes. He waited for several breaths.  _How can't the entire floor hear my breath?_

 

Phelan raised an eyebrow.

 

Macsen tilted his head, hoping to convey a question.

 

“You did say you trusted me.”

 

That was true. Macsen gave a tiny nod.

 

Phelan grinned. “Good man.” He kissed Macsen's forehead.

 

Unable to act in many ways, Macsen nuzzled Phelan's neck and pressed against him. A tight embrace folded around him. He melted into it. The situation was new and disconcerting, but touch was always welcome.

 

_What are you doing?_ The back of his mind chimed with alarm and a bit of shame.  _You allowed a Human. Templar. To bind you. For FUN, even if it is just Phelan._ He knew from the cheap paper books that found their way into the circle that some people did this, or found the idea titillating. Macsen had never thought he might be one of them, but the way Phelan had his hands all over him, attentive and everpresent, with no expectation of response on Macsen's part beyond enjoyment- it felt wonderful.  _You're domesticated, Macsen._

 

“You're thinking too hard,” Phelan whispered in his ear. “You're always doing that. Your eyes turn from early-morning-horizon blue to shine-on-a-dagger blue when you're worrying about something. Did you know?” He kissed Macsen's ear tip.

 

_I'm the one who's thinking too hard? How long did it take you to come up with that?_ Macsen gave a sort of half laugh, half snort through his nose. Meanwhile the knowledge that Phelan spent that much time looking at his eyes did strange things to his stomach.

 

“I'm going to have to work harder, huh? All right.” Phelan scooped him up with both arms and knelt to lay him gently on one of the plush rugs that ran along all the floors in the tower.

 

Macsen coughed a bit of a laugh in surprise.  _Oh, horizontal is good._ Macsen felt tension seep out of himself. Phelan kneaded his bare feet and calves as he slid the robes up inch by inch. Weariness, inability to say or do anything, luscious deep pressure from Phelan's warm, callused hands; all of it combined into drowsy contentment. Macsen took a deep breath, let it all out, and decided he could sort through this later.

 

Thinking... thinking stopped happening, at that point. Phelan whispered a stream of sweet words, but Macsen couldn't focus on them, or remember later what they had been. Macsen couldn't have strung words together himself even had he been left free to.

 

Phelan's palms stroked up his legs. Fingers tickled along his iliac crest, slipped beneath smallclothes, tugged them away. Warm slickness surrounded Macsen's sex, gentle pressure of tongue and lips finding all his most sensitive points. Phelan's tongue danced around Macsen's tip, slid along the underside; found a rhythm between the two of them. Macsen's body bucked in response of its own accord, but firm hands pressed his hips to the floor. A gasping, muffled stream of wordless cries answered the increasing, desperate need for release. Distantly, belatedly; Macsen knew them for his own voice.

 

Warmth and pressure built until inevitably the tide burst. Flashes lit the corners of his vision. Phelan swallowed around him- a quick pulse of firmer pressure. A smaller wave crested behind the first, gentle.

 

Macsen floated. Phelan would want a return for this, surely, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry. Clothing slid back into place, as Phelan whispered about how beautiful he was.

 

Beautiful? Lying on a floor in an undignified sprawl while his hands lost feeling and a knot dug into the back of his head? He'd felt beautiful and appreciated a moment ago, but now he just felt confused. He tried to sit up, thwarted by lack of leverage and weariness.

 

“Whoa, you're back, huh?” said Phelan. “Nothing stops your brain for long. I tried.” He gave a sheepish half smile. He worked the gag out of Macsen's mouth and ran his thumbs around neck and jawline.

 

Macsen made a face, trying to sort out what to say in response to all this.

 

Phelan tugged at the cord. It fell undone as fast as Phelan had tied it in the first place.

 

The sense that it was his turn warred with the rest of Macsen's thoughts for a space at the front of his brain. “Wh-” he cleared his throat. “What do you want me to do?”

 

“Eat this.” Something rustled and Phelan popped a small bit of something into Macsen's mouth- a soft molasses candy. The bittersweetness melted on his tongue as Phelan rubbed his arms and shoulders. “Everything's fine. You did great,” he said softly.

 

“But don't you want-”

 

“Shh. Not now.” Phelan petted his hair. “This was for you.” If he said anything else, Macsen missed it.

 

 

Macsen awoke a second time to the gentle pressing of his shoulders. He still lay on the rug. Phelan crouched above him.

 

“Oh, gods how long did you let me sleep?” He rubbed his eyes.

 

“People will start moving around in about three hours. That's when my relief shows up. You can finish your thing, or truthfully say you fell asleep in the library and I woke you when it looked like you'd get a crick in your neck and you decided to go to bed.” Amusement crinkled around Phelan's hazel eyes. “Which I still think you should do by the way, though it isn't my job to say.”

 

Macsen assessed himself. He had to admit, he felt pretty good. His head felt clearer. His limbs were a little stiff and chilly, but moving around would help, there. His troubled thoughts from earlier retreated. “Hmmm. I think I'll combine the two. I fell asleep. You woke me up with a persuasive argument that I should sleep for real, but if I get some tea, I should be all right.”

 

“Tea it is. I'll walk with you.” He gave Macsen a hand up. He held on for a bit longer than strictly necessary, gently squeezing a bit just before letting go entirely.

 

“You'll look extra dutiful if you walk with me.”

 

“Convenient, isn't it?”


End file.
